all the courage you have left
by filzmonster
Summary: After the Year That Never Was, Jack re-evaluates his role in the Universe.


» rate yourself and rake yourself  
take all the courage you have left;  
waste it on fixing all the problems  
that you made in your own head;

but it was not your fault but mine  
and it was your heart on the line;  
i really fucked it up this time;  
didn't i, my dear?

* * *

The familiar sounds of the TARDIS greet Jack like an old lover, the deep humming vibrating through his wrecked and bruised body like summer rain in Cardiff, and just like that she has made her peace with him. Being cannibalised for a whole year apparently makes even a ship as old as the TARDIS forget her prejudices against a Fixed Point in time and space.

The thought brings a small smile to Jack's lips and he can't help but walk towards the main board and trace his fingers over all the levers and buttons and various other pushable and pullable bits of technology. The interior has changed quite a bit since he's last been in here but after destroying the last bits of the Paradox Machine, it feels like it has always felt again.

He's been gone for so long and yet this room still is so much more like home than most other places in the universe. This is where he's been part of a family for the first time in a long while, and a part of him will always belong here, in this big room with its high ceiling and the metal floor and all the memories that are tucked in the corners where nothing can ever reach them. In this room he'll always be young and _better_ and loved and catching rays of light from a man in a leather jacket dancing with a yellow-haired girl.

The smile has turned into a full grin now, the metal warm against his palm as he relishes his memories.

There are still a lot of other things he'll have to deal with, physical and psychological trauma brought upon him by a year that never was and a man that never should have been, but in this moment all that matters is the sound that carries so well in here and the gentle touch of the TARDIS brushing against his mind, wrapping it up in eternity. It's all the ship can offer him, a little bit of gratitude and a little bit of company, and a promise to never leave him behind willingly again.

It's all Jack could ask for at a time like this.

He feels the Doctor's presence moments before he can hear the muffled steps on the concrete floor, like the anticipation of rain in the air before the sky turns grey.

"She's missed you, you know", the Doctor says, his voice opting for casualness though it's not quite there yet.

Jack arches his eyebrows, partly stunned, partly just surprised, and strokes over a particularly flashy button one last time before he turns around, hands in his pockets, and grins at the Time Lord.

He has changed into a new suit (delicously blue); his hands are deep in his neverending pockets and there is an expression on his face that Jack can't read yet; it's too new, that face and all the ways it can change into smiles and frowns and grief.

This Doctor is new and different and Jack loves him just the same.

"Wow, that must have hurt to say."

They are both dressed in blue now, their hands in their respective pockets, their faces unreadable for the other; they are a mirror immage. The Time Lord and the Man That Can Never Die, both trying so hard to do the right thing, both never really succeeding (except for one time, when _everybody lives, just this once, everybody lives_ ), both bound to continue nevertheless. The universe, time, and the two of them. That's how it is going to be, one way or another.

The Doctor must have had the same thought, because he breaks into a grin as bright as Jack's and like that the tension between them is shattered.

"Naaaaah, just a bit!", he admits and the way he slurrs the words is endearing and ridiculous and Jack falls hard for this man, _again._

Sometimes he wonders just how many times he can fall in love with this entity before it kills him for the last time.

He'll have an endless amount of occasions to find out. And isn't that a happy thought?

He must have been lost in his thoughts for too long, because the Doctor's voice sounds far away when he asks, "Are you alright, then?"

Jack tilts his head in a slightly daring gesture.

"Are you?", he shoots back, and of course none of them is, they've spent a year in hell, for God's sake, he doesn't need the Doctor's flinch to get the message.

If he needs to talk about what happened, if he is seeking solace; now's the time to do that.

Just like Martha is down in the TARDIS with her family somewhere, collecting the little pieces of warmth and comfort that are still left, somehow trying to mend what was broken and torn apart and cut into tiny shreds.

If Jack needs something similar, the Doctor is offering it right now.

There's only one thing Jack needs from the Doctor, only one thing he has ever needed. And he is so desperate for it, especially now, after what he has been through. It's this longing that forces him to go for this.

"You forgave him", he starts carefully, keeping his tone neutral.

The memories are still fresh, he sees them when he closes his eyes, sees them when his gaze is unfocused, sees them when he looks at the Doctor. How that great and brilliant man is bent over the monster that has imprisoned and tortured them for a whole year, and _weeps_ because he has forgiven him and still had to lose him.

It's a shame, really. The second last of the Time Lords and he had to be a bloody psychopath.

"Yeah, I did", the Doctor confirms slowly, his voice even and quiet and Jack can see in the almost scared glint in those clever eyes that he is not certain where this conversation is leading them. "That doesn't mean that you have to do the same thing, Jack."

His name rolling from those lips like that is what ultimately tips Jack over and makes him blurt out the one thing he's needed more than a decade to gather up the courage to even think about asking for.

"Will you forgive me, too?" The question falls out of his mouth before he can stop it and he just hopes it sounds less than a plea out loud than it does in his head (but it doesn't really matter, does it, _to hell with his pride_ ). It's been so long and he just needs an answer. And when that monster gets the Doctor's forgiveness, when someone like the Master can be worthy of something like that, shouldn't Jack deserve it, too, after everything? After everything he has lost and sacrificed and tried to mend. Doesn't he deserve it, too? Doesn't he have a right to be _jealous_? Of the Master, and for something like that?

The Doctor's old eyes widen in surprise and Jack has rendered him speechless, which is something that is not easily accomplished, he has learned. And even more so with this new regeneration.

There's silence falling between them, the Doctor rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet in deep thought, his gaze locked onto Jack and Jack can feel his heart hammering in his chest painfully hard, feels his nervous system going into overdrive as he struggles to keep his composure. It's almost as if his entire existence depends on those passing seconds the Doctor spends contemplaiting his answer and when he takes a deep and steady breath it takes all of Jack's selfcontrol not to turn around and run away from this like the coward he still fears he is.

"There never was anything to forgive", the Doctor finally says quietly, and just like that, Jack understands.

"...Oh." He loses control over his expression while decades of waiting suddenly are such a lighter burden to carry.

All this time he's thought it was his fault. That he's done something; messed up somehow; and that that was the final draw that made the Doctor abandon him. But he didn't. And it wasn't his fault.

It was the Doctor's.

That's why he left; why he ran away. Because it was the Doctor's fault and he couldn't face him again.

He couldn't face another mistake. One he isn't able to fix.

And Jack can relate to that. So how could he blame the Doctor?

Because if there is one thing the Doctor can't stand, it's having to stand by while something is broken and not being able to repair it..

It's there in every apology, in every _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry_ he whisperes when he is yet again forced to stand by and watch time work its way from cause to effect.

The Doctor never dares to ask for forgiveness. And with Jack, he'll never have to.

That's one more thing Jack can give him throughout all of time and space. And maybe that's what the Doctor needs now and then. Someone steady, someone reliable. A _Fixed Point._

He nods slowly, the gap between his lips replaced with a small smile and by the way the Doctor pulls at his ear and looks sheepish and slightly awkward he knows that his point has come across.

They aren't exactly equals now, Jack would never dare to put himself on the same level as the Doctor. But they are both outsiders in their own way; Jack because there shouldn't be someone like him and the Doctor because he is once more the last of his kind. It doesn't lessen any of the pain but it makes breathing through a little bit easier.

"She really meant … _to do good_ , you know", the Doctor says and for the first time since he's sought out Jack in the TARDIS he really actually meets his eyes. Jack remembers how he's talked about Rose's act of humanity ( _the last act of the Time War was life_ , he's said, half in awe and half apologetic; he's trying to excuse her even now) and he laughs quietly because really, how could Jack ever blame her for that?

"Is that why you never told her?" he asks casually and laughs again as the Doctor's face falls. Oh, how much fun it is to surprise this adorably arrogant man.

"What?!"

"Oh, come on, Doc", he crows with a gleeful smile. "This is Rose we're talking about. She probably wouldn't have let you abandon me if she didn't have a valid reason for it. And I guess _You've accidentally turned Jack into a Fixed Point and I can't even look at him anymore_ wouldn't have done it." _And you would have never burdened her with that knowledge._

The Doctor's silence is all the confirmation Jack needs to indulge in his speculations.

"So … what did you tell her?"

For a moment the Doctor looks adorably sheepish at the ground, balancing on the tips of his Converse shoes and really, what choice of footwear is this for someone so old and so incredible? There's that gesture again where he rubs his earlobe with his fingers, and then finally he looks up at Jack with a smile.

"That you are helping to rebuild the human race."

And Jack _gapes_. "Woah. No pressure there", he splutters and raises his hands in defence, palms up and eyes wide in surprise. "… She believed that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, she did. She always saw the best in you", the Doctor replies thoughtfully, his gaze fixed on something behind Jack in the endlessness that is the TARDIS. And Jack would bet another two years of memories that the Doctor is recalling an old conversation, maybe the one he and Rose had before they showed up to save Jack's life back in World War II.

"Well. Maybe she saw too much", he replies softly, and he knows that this is some kind of self-pity, some kind of endulging in his own miserable mistakes; all the times he's failed and screwed up and made things worse instead of better.

"Maybe she didn't", the Doctor throws in, the look in his eyes so _sincere_ and his lips missing the usual playful smile. It almost makes Jack sob.

"Doctor...", he pleads, because he isn't ready for this kind of absolution yet, maybe never will be.

"Alright, yeah, maybe she did", the Doctor finally caves in, his grin wider than his face and that's how Jack knows that it's okay, and isn't that some sort of absolution, too?

There's a pause in their conversation now, either of them is avoiding the other's eyes, and the humming and wheezing of the TARDIS are the only noises. The worldless silence doesn't feel uncomfortable, though, which is a surprise considering that there's a reason that Jack is the walking-talking centre-of-attention wherever he goes.

It's so easy to hide behind words and laughter and _sound_ , and there've been so many things for Jack to hide from. There's a certain bitterness in that trace of thought. To think that there once was a time when he didn't _have_ to be loud and boisterous but could just _chose_ to be carefree.

And then the Daleks happened and he had to live through centuries, always watching his back, being so careful who to tell what, constantly juggling and withholding information that musn't fall into the wrong hands while simultaneously not knowing whose hands were the wrong ones. So the boldness has become his weapon and shield, his hiding place and his battlefield, and it has served him well (even against the Master).

Only recently with his own team has he had a chance to drop the act again, at least a little. They've been through so much in the past few months of the normal timeline that it would have been impossible not to form a certain bond of trust.

But now that he's been gone for heaven knows how long in the normal timeline and been through a whole year of his own personal hell, he has new shadows to cast away with bright smiles, new secrets to hide behind empty banter, and a part of him is scared that whatever bond he's been able to create between him and his team, he's also ripped apart again.

The silence he shares with the Doctor now is like solace. Because the Doctor knows of his shadows, or at least can grasp a glint of what is there. He knows of the solitude that comes with too much knowledge and understands the pain that comes from being the only one left living. The Doctor, probably more than anyone else with all his cheerful smiles and the madness of his speech patterns, is someone who can distinguish between Jack's natural blatancy and his acting.

Which is why Jack can chose to drop the acting around him. At least partially. There's still too much serious hero worshipping going on to fully open up about all his demons. Maybe someday he will, but not today. The timing isn't right.

Which is why Jack has to destroy the silence now before he changes his mind about this. And there's something else he's had to think about ever since reuniting with the Doctor, and the timing for _that_ questions seems just right.

"How does it feel?"

"What?" The Doctor blinks in confusion, obviously not following Jack's thoughts, or just caught off guard. Who knows what trace of thought he is following in his seemingly endless mind.

"Time", Jack says softly, holding the Doctor's gaze now, determined to not let him avoid this. There have been a lot of questions whirling around in his mind ever since the Doctor has labeled him a Fixed Point in time and space; entire constellations structured upon the black sky of his infinite deaths, all glowing with the power of that simple mystery. And the Doctor is now probably the only being left in existence that can give an answer.

Said being looks at Jack with a rather puzzled expression, the dismissal visible in his clear eyes.

"I - I can't put it into words", he deflects, as expected, his voice defensive like a little child's and once again Jack is struck by the paradox that is this new version of his old friend. But Jack is also stubborn and desperate and not going to let this go.

"Try it. Please. For me, Doctor. I want to understand what … this", he gestures at his immortal body "… means." The _I need to understand how I feel to you_ goes unsaid, but they both hear it anyway. The weight of what the Doctor has done, has done _to Jack_ when he's left him on that deserted Station, the eternally living surrounded by the eternally dead, hangs suddenly heavy above them and for a moment Jack fears that it is _too heavy_ , but then the Doctor bows his head and when he looks up again, he doesn't really see Jack anymore but the empty space around them.

"It's like – light falling through a window and … pouring into a room" he says slowly, his voice so soft that it feels like the words are appearing in the air, still and unmoving. It's the Doctor's way of painting, creating pictures with words and emotions so full of colour that it made Jack's head dizzy sometimes, when they were still three people in a space ship traveling through time. He is quiet now, letting the Doctor paint this one picture just for him.

"Suddenly you can see all the dust in the air, floating around in space, things that are happening, things in _movement_. You breathe and the constellations change, you move and they move with you … except that some don't. Fixed Points like … like ..."

He is visibly struggling for a fitting comparison for a few moments, until Jack decides to put him out of his misery with the first thing that comes to his mind.

"Like furniture?", he suggests and can't help to laugh at the Doctor's _Are you seriously compating something as overwhelming as time itself to something as irrelevant as a chair?!_ face.

The Doctor pouts at him for a few moments, but then he gives in. "Fine. Like furniture. But I _have_ to come up with a better metaphor some day! Now, where was I?" He looks at Jack ruefully as if already regretting that he started to speak in the first place. But of course he can't stop now that he's begun his elaboration. He's still too much of a know-it-all for that.

"Furniture", Jack helps him get back on track and the Doctor nods gratefully.

"Riiiight, furniture." He scratches the back of his head thoughtfully. "Furniture, hm. Oh, I know! It's there in the room and when you try to move, it's not moving with you. Weeeeell, of course it's not real furniture then because you _can_ move around furniture, so it's like … like it's glued to the floor or … too heavy to move away, yes, that's it. And you wouldn't dare to move it around anyway because if you did, you'd just mess up the whole room."

"Can I be the bed?", Jack asks with one of his trademark grins, but it's not an honest smile. The Doctor shoots him a strange look, something between annoyance over the innuendo and pity. Jack averts his eyes.

"No … you're not the bed. You're different. You're not just a normal Fixed Point. Fixed Points are events. Knots in the string of time that can't be untied. They happen at one point in time and then they never leave their place again. But you … you are walking around. You are moving. You are leaving one place and jumping to another. You are not glued to the floor, you don't have your fixed place in the room. You are harder to avoid then the bed or the chair or the lamp. That's what makes you so dangerous, so _wrong_ to me."

Jack flinches at that word again. _Wrong._ It hurts. It hurts so much because it sounds like a rejection. An eternal rejection. The Doctor will forever see him as wrong. And Jack can't do anything to change that, can't attempt to make a grand sacrifice like the last time. It won't matter how many good things he'll do, he'll still be something the Doctor's very nature wants to reject.

"Wrong", he echos dully, tasting the word in his mouth. It tastes like every death he's ever died before.

"Yes, wrong", the Doctor repeats once more, but his voice is gentle, his gaze soft and full of empathy. "And so I just ran away. Left the room." He looks up at the ceiling, balancing on the heels of his sneakers, his arms clasped behind his back. There's deep sorrow in those words.

They sound like an apology. And Jack realises, as his eyes start to burn with tears of affection, that a part of him has still needed to hear that. Not so that he would be able to forgive the Doctor, he's never blamed him in the first place. But so that the wound he's carried around for all this time finally got a chance to heal. The Doctor apologizing to him for abandoning him makes it real: _it wasn't Jack's fault._

The thought forces him to rub his eyes aggressively, trying in vain to keep his composure. He burries his head in his hands, taking a couple of shuddering breaths until he can trust his voice again. It's still cracking in his throat when he speaks again.

"I've been running away from a lot of things, too", he says, and thinks about coffee and suits and the familiar feeling of having someone who _could_ matter.

The Doctor looks at him with a timid smile, hands in his pockets and vibrating with the possibility of everywhere and everywhen in his eyes.

And Jack suddenly makes a decicion he didn't even know he had to make.

He knows where he's going from here.

He's going home.


End file.
